


A Vision Softly Creeping

by laschatzi



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Nightmares, Therapy Session, figuring out issues, instead of sweeping them under the rug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laschatzi/pseuds/laschatzi
Summary: Killian keeps having nightmares he can’t quite remember. With Dr. Hopper’s help, he discovers one of the reasons for them, and that might require a painful, in-depth talk with Emma. Set post season 6, shortly after the wedding.





	A Vision Softly Creeping

It's not a sudden movement or sound that wakes her up, no, it's like some mysterious force that pulls her from the depths of her sleep, which is extraordinary in itself – because normally not even a cannon fired beside her bed would wake her up. She has slept through blaring alarm clocks, ringing phones and thunderstorms. But every time her newly wed husband is having one of those dreams, she seems to sense it even on the bottom of her subconscious.

Emma opens her eyes in the moonlit darkness and, after getting past her slight disorientation, notices Killian's silhouette sitting upright beside her. From the way his shoulders move she can see that he's breathing heavily. She lifts herself up into an upright position, and when he feels the shifting of the mattress, he turns his head to look at her.

“I'm sorry I woke you,” he murmurs and runs his hand through his hair, his voice thick with sleep and something else she can't quite define. He seems tense, and in the moonlight she catches a glimpse of the fine sheen of sweat that covers his bare shoulders and collarbones.

“That dream again?” she asks softly and puts her palm to his scruffy cheek.

His eyes that had been scanning the darkness almost erratically focus on hers again, and she reads barely faded panic mixed with relief and something deeper, indecipherable to her, that seems to have a grip on him.

“Killian?” she prompts, and he snaps out of it. In a sudden move, his hand comes up to the back of her head and pulls her in for a kiss almost brusquely, eliciting a startled gasp from her.

The raw passion, seemingly out of the blue, takes her by surprise, but as usual doesn't fail to make her respond. Her worries about his sleep being interrupted not for the first time by a _confusing dream_ , as he's put it, are pushed into oblivion to the back of her mind by his demanding lips and tongue and the weight of his body pressing her down into her pillow again.

She welcomes the sensual assault and wraps her arms around his torso and her legs around his hips as he blindly finds his way past her sleep shorts and underwear and thrusts into her without further preliminary, deep and hard and possessively. Emma moans as her hips buck to meet his, but she almost can't match his raw force and fierceness this time, and as much as she enjoys when he takes her like that, leaving her sore and spent and simply thoroughly _fucked_ , she suspects tonight he's fueled by the nightmare he just had, and before she loses all ability to think clearly, she vows to herself she's going to talk to him about it.

But afterwards, when she's cleaned them up with a flick of her wrist underneath the covers, he pulls her into an overprotective, almost uncomfortably tight embrace against his chest and is asleep again in no time; from physical and emotional exhaustion, she's sure. It'll have to wait until tomorrow.

The rest of the night goes by quietly, without further disturbances, and in the morning Emma is woken by the smell of coffee slowly wafting into her conscience and the pleasant feeling of softness and prickles traveling down her throat. She squirms and sighs when a certain spot on the base of her neck is stimulated by Killian's lips while his hand caresses the side of her ribs underneath her sleep top.

“Is it Sunday?” she murmurs, for a moment confused.

He chuckles warmly against her collarbone. “I wouldn't dare to wake you at this time of the day on a Sunday morning, love.”

She runs her fingers through his hair and breathes, “You... can wake me any day at any time like this.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he hums as he pulls down her tank top to free her left breast, and she simply forgets how to form coherent sentences.

Killian takes it slowly this time, paying attention to his love's every sensitive spot... she has a _lot_ of them, and he knows them _all_. He loves to bring out all the sweet tunes from Emma, the sighs and whispers and pleas, but what pushes him in particular to be gentle and tender this morning is a nagging feeling of guilt at the back of his mind. He knows he had that dream again last night, the one that has been haunting him for weeks now – ironically since life started to be actually _peaceful_ in Storybrooke for longer than six weeks. He doesn't really remember the dream, it always slips through his fingers shortly before he wakes up, but it always leaves him with a feeling of unease, more like dread, and a vague anger. And that unsettling mix fueled him last night, too, urged him to feel this intense need to take her, mark her... and even though she welcomed him and enjoyed it, he feels like whatever it is that haunts him, he somehow took it out on her, and so now he... needs to make it up to her.

And he does make it up to her thoroughly.

Emma remembers her resolution to talk to Killian about his nightmares only when they're already on their way to work. Being woken up in that delicious way has thrown her off track completely and would have made it so easy to soothe her worries and sweep them under the rug, but she knows – from her own, painful experience – that unresolved issues and traumas have an unhealthy tendency to come back and rise their ugly heads in the least convenient moments; usually when you think you have shaken them off a long time ago.

So, when she parks her yellow bug in front of the sheriff's station, she asks in a – more or less – casual way, “Are you going to see Archie soon?”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I have scheduled a visit for this afternoon, after the shift ends. Why?”

She shrugs. “I was just wondering...”

“About what, love?”

She looks at him searchingly. “Have you talked about your dreams?”

“Well,” he tilts his head, “yes and no. I told him that I'm having them, but as I don't truly remember them, there isn't really anything to discuss further.” He thinks about last night and feels guilty again. “Is something wrong?” he asks hesitantly, his voice full of concern.

Emma purses her lips in a pensive way. “It's just that you seem to have a troubled sleep lately.”

He licks his lips a little nervously and nods, a wave of guilt washing over him once more. “Aye.” Feeling her worried gaze resting on his face, he promises, “We'll tackle the subject again.”

***

“Captain.” Dr. Hopper smiles his patented therapist smile he has for every one of his patients, yet it's still genuine and never seems fake. “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” Killian replies, “normal.” He tilts his head and adds a little hesitantly, “The day has never really been my problem.”

“Ah.” The cricket throws his visitor a probing look over the rim of his glasses. “But you had a troubled night?” he guesses, as usually hitting the nail right on the head. Killian just nods in response, and it's more a statement rather than a question when he says, “That dream again.”

“It seems to come with increasing frequency,” Killian replies in agreement. “Shouldn't it get better with time?”

The short man shakes his head. “I'm afraid not, Captain. Not unless you have truly dealt with the issue your dreams try to bring to the surface.”

Killian lets out a frustrated huff. “How am I supposed to do that if I can't even remember it?”

“It takes time,” Dr. Hopper tries to soothe. “Were you able to go back to sleep after you were disturbed by your dream?” he wants to know.

“I...” Killian averts his eyes, and his hand goes up by its own volition, his ringed index finger rubbing an imaginary spot underneath his ear. “Emma was startled awake, too, and I–” he interrupts himself and tilts his head, “ _we–_ ”

“She provided physical comfort,” Dr. Hopper states calmly, ending his stammering in a firm voice, and leans a little forward, searching Killian's gaze. “Captain, finding comfort in being intimate with your partner is nothing to feel ashamed about.”

“No, I know, Doctor,” Killian confirms hastily. “It's not... it's not that.”

The doctor frowns in genuine concern. “Then what is it that makes you uncomfortable about it?”

Killian sighs and squirms a little. “It was the way I...” He lets his voice trail off, unsure how to proceed.

He knows the cricket would never betray a patient's trust by doing so much as judge them, but it still isn't easy for him to talk about these personal things... like his feelings, his guilt, or intimate details about his relationship with Emma. But if there is anyone he _can_ talk to about these issues that torment him, then it's this man before him – the man who, in spite of their history, has been nothing but supportive when Killian was full of self-doubts, and who, on top, has sealed his bond with Emma. Right now, he's patiently waiting for Killian to continue, without pressuring him.

He draws a deep breath before he finally goes on, “It was like I... like I had to prove a point to her.”

Dr. Hopper lays his fingertips together and looks at him seriously, his gaze unfaltering. “Captain, did you do anything your wife didn't consent to?” he asks gently, but somehow it feels more like a rhetorical question.

Still, a hot pang of fury hits Killian right in the chest. “No, bloody hell, of course not!” he barks. “I would _never!_ ”

The cricket doesn't even flinch at his outburst. “I didn't think you would,” he replies matter-of-factly, and Killian can't help admiring his posture. This is the man he, in another life, did things to he doesn't want to think about and isn't proud of... but he's completely unimpressed by his momentary rage and stays completely focused. Looking at him, short of height, with his glasses and his staid clothing and manners, it would be so easy to underestimate him, but he has a quiet authority about him that makes it impossible.

“Still, you feel you acted,” he adds and sways his head slowly in search for the right expression, “out of inappropriate reasons?”

Killian is almost shocked by the accuracy of Dr. Hopper's words. Sure, everything he did last night was enthusiastically welcomed by Emma, and they have both reveled in lovemaking much rougher than last night's, so _that_ is not really something to feel guilty about. But the _reasons_ that fueled him to approach her like he did weren't the right ones. When Killian looks at the doctor again hesitantly, he finds his calm gaze resting on him patiently, encouragingly.

He swallows. “Aye,” he finally replies. “In that moment, I felt so...” he runs his hand through his hair nervously, “I can't even name it, but I felt so... guilty afterwards, like I'd been somehow taking it out on her.” He tilts his head. “Whatever in blazes it was that I felt.”

“And you still can't remember it?” the doctor presses gently.

Killian shakes his head. “Not quite,” he replies reluctantly, “but I have the feeling that I almost...” He interrupts himself and rubs his fingertips together before he presses through his clenched teeth. “Like it just... slipped through my fingers.”

“That sounds like you're almost there,” Dr. Hopper encourages.

Killian chews on his bottom lip in frustration and throws his hand in the air. “I only know I'm always powerless,” he finally blurts out, “and when I wake up, I feel desperate, lost, hopeless...” He bores his steely blue eyes in Dr. Hopper's before he adds in a bewildered tone, _“angry.”_

The cricket nods. “Captain, it's beyond doubt that what vexes you stems from the traumata you went through with Emma lately,” he states the obvious, “but we won't get to the core to the problem until we find out everything about your dream.” Killian waits, eyebrows raised in question, as the doctor taps his right index finger against his mouth a few times and then draws a deep breath, as if he's come to some conclusion. “I'd like to try something, if you're in agreement.”

“No magic,” Killian replies immediately in a stern voice, almost reflexively. “I don't want anything to mess with my mind,” he declares firmly, “or my memories.”

He has learned in very painful ways that only bad things have ever come out of it if any type of magic has messed with his mind; more than that, the results have been devastating. Whether it was the Crocodile dripping poison into his ear after briefly reattaching his hand, or Emma when she took his memories of her turning him into a Dark One – or the darkness itself, whispering of revenge and snuffing out the light to achieve it. And, well, his own attempt of getting rid of his own memories of a lurid crime committed against an innocent man... _that_ had brought him and the people he loved nothing but pain either.

“I'm absolutely with you,” Dr. Hopper soothed, his hands raised in defense. “Magic has no place when it comes to treating the human soul.”

After scrutinizing him closely for a few seconds, Killian tilts his head. “Then I'm not averse to anything you deem helpful, Doctor.”

“Very good.” The cricket smiles. “If you don't mind,” – he waves his hand invitingly – “lay down and make yourself comfortable.” When Killian raises his eyebrows in question, he explains, “I want to try and bring you to the verge of dreams, calm down your mind and soul until you reach a state similar to sleep, simply with relaxation techniques.” He nods towards the cushions on the comfortable leather couch Killian is sitting on and adds, “It helps if you lay down.”

“Hm,” Killian grumbles, but then lets himself sink to the side, stretching his long legs on the far end of the couch, albeit a little reluctantly.

“Excellent,” Dr. Hopper comments. “Now close your eyes, please.”

Killian sighs but does as he's asked, and strangely enough, the doctor's voice seems even more calming and soothing when he can't see him. Automatically, his breathing gets slower and deeper even before Dr. Hopper tells him so, and he concentrates on nothing else than his breath and his heartbeat as everything else fades away and the doctor's voice becomes nothing but a distant murmur while his body seems to grow heavier and heavier...

_...and the ground he's laying on isn't exactly comfortable, so he gets up. His feet are a bit unsteady, and when he looks down he sees that the uneven ground consists of sand. He looks around the barren, familiar place, and suddenly he knows where he is: Lake Nostos. The place where he witnessed the magic in Emma for the first time, when he lay on the ground, only half-conscious._

_And there she is, like in a déjà-vû: Emma in her red leather jacket, the golden compass in her hand, as she confronts Cora. He wants to rush over to her, but he can't, something's holding him back, and when he looks down he sees that his feet are frozen on place, his black boots covered in a base of clear ice, like that time when the Snow Queen trapped him. Panic rises in his chest, and his eyes fly back to Emma, but it's like he remembers, Cora can't hurt her: when she plunges her cruel hand into Emma's chest to take her heart, she's repelled by the blinding white light bursting out of Emma's very core, and he is relieved hearing Emma's words, firmly spoken, “No, love is_ strength _.”_

_But this time, Cora doesn't seem to be impressed. “Then prove it,” she sneers, and he doesn't like the sound of that, and he doesn't like the determined look on Emma's face either. She looks at him for the first time, an expression of guilt on her face, and plunges her hand in her own chest._

“ _Emma, no!” he yells. “What are you doing?”_

“ _Don't worry,” she replies and rips out her own heart. An all too familiar, triumphant giggle comes from the other woman, a giggle that's haunted him for centuries, and he sees that Cora has transformed and is the Black Fairy now._

_Desperation gives him strength, and somehow, he manages to free his feet, but before he can run over to Emma, he's held back violently, a sharp pain in his wrist making him look down again. He sees an old rusty shackle around his wrist and recognizes it immediately, it's the one Emma bound him with atop of the beanstalk. He also has the golden compass in his hand now, and he knows they can make it back home, together, but apparently, Emma has other plans._

_And like in slow motion, he sees Emma offering her heart to the Black Fairy. “Emma, please! Don't do this!” he yells again, desperately rattling on the chain that holds him mercilessly in place._

_But Emma shakes her head as she hands over her heart. “I'm sorry, I have to.”_

_He's helpless, and he can't do anything but..._

“No!” he gasps and sits up abruptly, finding Dr. Hopper's eyes resting on him quietly.

Killian closes his eyes in endless relief and rubs his hand over his face. “I remember now,” he finally says, “Emma...” He falls silent and shakes his head, his mind still swirling from his upsetting dream.

“I know,” Dr. Hopper replies in a soothing voice, “you told me everything.”

Exhaling slowly, deliberately, to calm down, Killian runs his fingers through his hair. “And did it give you any enlightenment?” he asks almost reproachfully, because it's not like there was any surprise in that dream. That all the separations and nearly-losses have caused him serious distress, was clear from the beginning, and he just doesn't see how it was helpful to extract this dream from his mind that he's blissfully forgotten.

“Oh yes, it did,” the cricket tells him to his surprise and then asks, “Captain, what exactly happened on your wedding day?”

Killian frowns in confusion and surprise. “On my wedding day?”

“We only know that Emma defeated the Black Fairy, and that her family was present, but unable to help,” Dr. Hopper recounts and looks at him questioningly.

A chill runs down Killian's spine when he recalls the occasion, and he hates it, still hates the Crocodile's monstrous mother for tainting his wedding day with these traumatic events, a day that should only hold happy memories, and it _does_ , but it also will forever be tied to the terrible memory of another occasion where he almost lost his love. He doesn't like to reminisce about it, let alone to talk about it, but alas, those are the two crucial points of these encounters with the cricket – if they're supposed to help him heal.

“She came to me on my ship during the day,” he begins reluctantly, “I had spent the night there. You know, because...” he lets his voice trail off and vaguely waves his hand through the air. His wedding band gleams in the light of the late afternoon sun falling through the window, and he swallows when his eyes catch the shine.

Dr. Hopper nods. “Because you wanted to avoid bad luck,” he finishes the sentence for him.

“Aye.” Killian huffs with sarcasm. “Well, that worked out quite nicely, didn't it?”

“You know it would have happened anyway,” the doctor reminds him gently. “Why did she come to see you if she knew you wanted to avoid her until the ceremony?”

“She told me about the impending confrontation, about the Black Fairy's ultimatum,” Killian says, his voice flat and his eyes staring at a point on the wall above Dr. Hopper's right shoulder.

“She came to discuss a plan?” he prompts softly.

“She came to tell me to stay back,” Killian replies pointedly, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “She said she had to deal with it by herself.” He bores his eyes into the doctor's, hard like steel, like his voice now. “She came to say goodbye, in the event of her failure.”

Dr. Hopper waits for a moment, but when Killian doesn't continue, he asks quietly, “And did you? Stay back?”

Killian swallows and shakes his head once. “Of course not. I went to the Crocodile's to keep him from coming to his mummy's aid. Knocked him out with a bit of dreamshade to keep him out of the equation.” He snorts. “I should have known that the black witch was already waiting for me.”

“So that's how she captured you.”

He looks away. “Aye. The rest of the family was there, too, and we were frozen and watched her surrender her heart to the Black Fairy.”

“And you couldn't do anything to help.” It's not a question, it's a statement.

Killian snorts. “It was too late for that now, wasn't it?” His mouth twitches as he bites out the last word.

Dr. Hopper nods slowly, his sympathetic eyes regarding him. After a short pause, he finally tells him calmly, “Captain, you need to be honest with your wife.”

Killian frowns. “I am!” he assures. “Emma and I, we're past hiding things from each other. We–”

“Being honest means not hiding the truth,” the doctor interrupts, a little vaguely at first, “ _any_ truth. About what you feel.” When it becomes very clear that Killian has no idea what he's talking about, the cricket explains, “And the truth about your feelings is that you are harboring anger towards Emma.”

Killian is taken aback. “Are you out of your mind?” he snaps, maybe a little too indignantly. “Why would I be angry at her? The black witch was the villain, not Emma!” he argues.

“But Emma is your partner,” Dr. Hopper points out gently. “Yet, she didn't allow you to _act_ like a partner.”

Killian turns his head to the side in an attempt to avoid the doctor's quiet scrutiny, but then decides that it's probably not working – and besides, he is coming here to deal with what haunts him, and denying the truth is not exactly a helpful way to do that. Unconsciously, he clenches his jaw.

“That hurt,” he admits reluctantly. “Still does.”

Dr. Hopper takes off his glasses and briefly rubs at the red marks they have left on the bridge of his nose. “Captain, Emma has been used to have to fend for herself for a very long time,” he then says thoughtfully, “much like yourself.” He gestures towards Killian and goes on, “And to realize that it's okay to accept other people's help and support... takes time and courage.” He tips his head to the side. “You might recall an occasion when you had trouble yourself opening up to Emma about what burdened you,” he reminds him, “which led to grave consequences for both of you and almost resulted in your own death.”

Killian nods grimly when he thinks back to the disaster he summoned after he'd found out that he'd murdered David's father. Trying to keep that a secret was a grave mistake that had him end up in Neverland, almost burned at the stake by the Lost Boys.

“She was so angry when she found out that I had not told her, that she gave back my ring,” he recalls in a thick voice, the burden of the painful memory of that fateful evening making it even physically difficult to talk about it. “Not because of what I had done,” he adds, “but because I had decided to resolve the problem by myself.”

“And she did the same,” Dr. Hopper says, expressing exactly what's been bothering him: that Emma accused him of one thing, but then went ahead and did just the same thing she'd condemned him for.

“But... will that ever change?” he asks, the helplessness and insecurity he feels seeping into his voice.

Dr. Hopper leans forward, his pale blue eyes firmly resting on Killian's. “Only you can change it,” he tells him and points out, “you and Emma. And to do that, you need to be aware of it.” When Killian frowns in question, he explains, “Talk to her. She must know how you feel, that you're upset with her.”

Killian sways his head from one side to the other, clearly in doubt. “I'm really not sure it would be helpful for anyone if I burdened her with that, too,” he ponders. “Not after all she's been through.”

“Oh, and for you it's been a picnic?” the doctor asks with just the right dose of irony.

Killian squirms on the soft leather couch. Burdening Emma with _anything_ is the last thing he wants to do. “I–”

But the doctor is relentless and interrupts him with a hand held up. “Captain, your feelings are valid _just_ as much as Emma's,” he says firmly. “She deserves to _know_ , and _you_ deserve to express it. That's the way this works.” He leans back again and speaks his final verdict, “That's the way a _relationship_ works.”

Later, when Killian comes home – to the house he once picked to give Emma hope, visible proof that he still believed in their chance at a future and happiness, even when every hope seemed lost – he stands on the sidewalk for a while, hesitating to go in. It feels almost like a déjà-vû of that night when he found out what he'd done to Emma's grandfather, the ring that he'd wanted to give her burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans. The dilemma he was in – telling her the truth and risk losing her or keeping the secret and live with a lie – tearing him apart inside. The feeling that he couldn't dare to do what he'd planned and ask for her hand and her life, the feeling that he'd forfeited any right to a happy ending with his True Love almost choking him.

What lies ahead of him now can't be compared to that dilemma, of course, but it isn't easy either. What the doctor told him to do... deep down, he knows it's necessary and probably cleansing and healthy; but he also knows that, at least at first, it's going to cause uproar, pain, and guilt for the woman he loves. It's going to make her suffer, and he's going to be the reason for her suffering, again. Will that really be worth it? Surely he can do with a few more nights of poor sleep, if that's the price he has to pay for not hurting Emma?

 _She deserves to know,_ the cricket's voice reverberates in his head, _And you deserve to express it. That's the way a relationship works.You need to be honest with your wife._

Damn, the little man is right. He isn't being honest with her if he withholds the truth about his feelings, if he keeps hiding and harboring them, _nursing_ them until they grow to become obstacles, ugly, spiky barriers to keep him separated from his wife.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself in a groan of frustration and scrapes together every ounce of courage and determination he can find, before he finally walks into his home.

He finds Emma upstairs, dressed in leggings and a comfortable baggy t-shirt, toweling her hair after her shower. She smiles at him, like she always does when he enters a room, and it tugs heavily at his heart.

“Hey!” She walks up to him and brushes a quick kiss on his lips. “How did your appointment go?”

He draws a deep breath, the scent of her coconut oil shampoo filling his nose. “It was...” He hesitates, licks his lips and tries again, “I think we made some progress.”

“That's great!” Emma comments. “About your nightmares?”

He scratches behind his ear. “Mainly about those, aye.”

“Oh, really?” She throws the towel on her dressing table and slumps down on the chair. “Do you remember the dream?” She looks at him expectantly.

Killian waves his hand vaguely and tilts his head. “Well, basically it's about what happened on our wedding day,” he tells her, “the wretched black witch, your heart, our family...” He lets his voice trail off and looks at his hand, the sight of the still unfamiliar rings catching his attention and distracting him for a moment. But then he pulls himself together, because avoiding a touchy subject has never done any good for anyone, and adds, “And me, doing nothing to help, watching her almost kill you...”

Emma gets up from her seat abruptly and puts her hand on his arm. “Killian! It wasn't your fault what happened!” she insists firmly. “You mustn't feel guilty about it! Is that really what your dreams mean?” Her forehead creases with worry and empathy.

He sways his head again. “That's not the only thing causing my incubus.”

That apparently takes her by surprise. “What else?” she wants to know.

“The cricket thinks I'm...” He sighs and licks his lips again; speaking seems very difficult. “He thinks that I'm upset with you,” he finishes.

“Upset?” she echoes. “With me? As in... _angry_?” Confusion is written all over her face. “But that doesn't... I mean, why would you be angry with me?” It is meant as a rhetorical question, but then she notices that he doesn't speak, just keeps scrutinizing her wordlessly, a ticking muscle in his jaw betraying the tension he feels. She frowns. “Killian?”

He averts his eyes for a moment, overwhelming the need to stop this before it begins to spiral out of control, because why would it help to dig up old ghosts now, right? It would only cause more pain and burden her with more worry and guilt... and then he remembers the cricket's words: that _his_ feelings are valid, too, and that he has the right and also the _obligation_ to express them, an obligation not only to himself, but also towards _Emma_ and their relationship – because not hiding what he feels is part of the honesty that's indispensable for any relationship.

He draws another deep breath – regular breathing seems to be a difficult task right now – and directs his gaze back at her with determination in his eyes. He can see how she's taken aback by that.

“After all we'd been through,” he starts quietly, “after you'd even put our engagement on hold because I'd tried to resolve my problems all by myself... after we'd promised each other again and again to always support each other and be by each other's side...” She narrows her eyes, and Killian realizes that she has no idea what he's aiming at. “After all that,” he repeats firmly, “you _still_ felt the need to go and face the most dangerous villain we'd ever encountered _alone_!” Her eyes widen, apparently in disbelief, and he goes on, “You _still_ thought it would be better to confront her on your own, you _still_ couldn't accept your family's help and let them – _me_ – be there for you!” Now that the dam has broken, it seems to him, surprisingly enough, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he finds that it makes him feel actually _free_ to put all this into words. _“Why?”_ he adds, just when he thought he was finished. “When is that ever going to change?!”

“Really?” Emma blurts out. “You're mad at me because I was trying to _protect_ you?!”

“That's the point, Swan!” he emphasizes, gesturing vividly. “You're not supposed to protect me! You're supposed to _let me fight_ by your side, if necessary!”

Emma shakes her head. “The Black Fairy wanted _me!_ ” she points out. “There was nothing you or anybody else could have done!”

Sure, that would be her stereotypical excuse – no one else could have done it, so the Savior had to do it her way, _alone_. “Nonsense!” he contradicts fervently. “We could have worked out a plan to–”

Emma scoffs. “A plan to what?” she snaps. “Get yourselves killed?”

“You can't know that!” he replies angrily. “Do you really think letting her kill _you_ would have saved me or your family? That she would have let us get away?”

He literally cannot believe how she could be so naïve not to see that by giving herself up to the Black Fairy she was sealing his – _their family's_ – fate as much as hers. But death has never been something Killian Jones feared – well, at least not his own death. But seeing the woman he loves losing her life in front of his eyes? The last time, it nearly destroyed him. But he knows, this time, with his True Love, it wouldn't take him only three meager centuries to get over it – eons wouldn't be enough.

“Do you have any idea how I felt, being paralyzed and having to watch that monster with your heart in her hand?” Without being aware of it, he mimics the gesture of holding a heart in his hand and slowly closes his fingers to a fist. Emma's eyes are drawn to the movement of his hand, and he can see her flinch when his fingers curl around an imaginary heart. “About to _crush_ it,” he goes on, “and not being able to move and do anything about it?”

After a few moments of heavy silence she blurts out furiously, “Of course I do! I had to watch Gold almost crush _your_ heart while I was frozen, remember?!” Killian feels like punched in the gut, and also a little guilty for simply having forgotten this terrible episode. Yes, Emma's been there, too – he may not have given his heart to the Crocodile willingly, but what Emma almost had to watch his enemy do to him was practically the same.

“And I swore to myself,” she goes on, “to _never_ let that happen again! That's why I went about it on my own, not because I thought I'd handle things better alone!”

He sighs and lowers his eyes for a moment to look at his hand that's still balled into a fist... and he understands. Because if there was ever an occasion where the only way to save her life would be to sacrifice his own, he knows he would not hesitate one second. So, he understands her motivation – but in this case, he's convinced, her sacrifice would have been in vain, the Black Fairy wouldn't have spared any of Emma's family.

He focuses on her again. “But that was not your decision to make, Emma,” he tells her softly. “We've been there already. And you know I'd rather die fighting anyone who threatens my family than surrender anyone I love to them.”

Her shoulders slump heavily. “Yeah, I know that,” she replies, her voice defeated, almost breaking. “But I really didn't think we had a chance this time.” Her wide eyes are boring into his with an almost frightening intensity, begging him to understand, as tears well up in them. “And I _cannot_ watch another person I love die. I can't lose you. Not again.”

Killian reaches out and takes her left hand, his fingers squeezing hers almost painfully. “Emma,” he says, his voice deep and soothing, “When you think there's no chance to win, and there's no hope to prevail... that's _exactly_ when you have to rely on your family, on me.” Her brows start to pull into a frown, and he insists, “When you need reminding that we'll _always_ find a way.”

She huffs through her tears, almost in a choked laugh. “You sound like my mother.”

He tilts his head. “Your mother can be a piece of work, and everyone has made fun of her hope speeches at some point or got annoyed by them,” he admits, secretly counting himself in, “but you can't deny that whenever things have seemed beyond remedy and people have lost all faith, _she_ was always the one to give them hope again, and along with that, the courage and strength to overcome anything!” He secretly counts himself among _those_ people, too. He arches his eyebrows. “And I haven't seen her proven wrong _one single time_.”

Emma can't help but nod in agreement at that; so far, they have always managed to overcome anything, no matter how much against them the odds have been.

“Look at what has been thrown at her, at you – _at us_!” Killian reminds her. “Curses, poison, darkness, villains trying to take away our happy endings, to rip us apart, to destroy us,” – he pauses for a moment and threads his fingers through hers – “and yet, _we're_ still here, and _they_ are _not_. No matter how hard they tried, we have defeated them...”, he tilts his head again and adds dryly, “or made them part of the family.”

That makes her smile, which was, of course, his intention. “You're right,” she admits and squeezes his fingers. “I'll get there. It's just...” she licks her lips and swallows. “The instinct to protect the people you love–”

“I know,” he interrupts, “it's not easy. I get it. And if I thought there was no other way to save your life than to give up mine?” He nods gravely. “I would do it in the blink of an eye without discussion,” he concedes plainly. “But we can't and must not bear the burden alone, the burden of deciding whether there _is_ another way or not,” he tries to make his point. “Like your parents when they were ready to sacrifice their lives to Regina's evil half to save the rest of Storybrooke. Or when I...” He hesitates for a moment, the memory still painfully fresh, “stayed behind in the Underworld.”

Emma shudders at the thought and points out, her tone a little accusing, “You decided that all by yourself!”

“Aye,” he admits, “but only after every other option we'd tried didn't work out.”

She sighs and nods. “Okay. I see what you mean.” She draws a deep breath and raises her chin, her eyes glittering and her voice firm. “I promise, Killian–“

“Just promise me,” he interrupts gently and smooths her still damp hair behind her shoulder with his hook, “to never give up.”

She presses her lips into a smile and tries to blink back her tears. “Okay. I promise.”

Killian lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of hers before he says softly, “You know, Emma... it's very likely that one of us is going to lose the other one day.”

Like he anticipated, she shakes her head fervently. “I won't–”

He squeezes her fingers, that are still entwined with his, reassuringly. “But that's okay,” he tells her firmly, even though the thought of losing Emma, at _any_ point, pains him to no end, “because we'll know where we're going. And the one of us that goes first, will await the other, no matter how long it takes, and then we shall cross that bridge, together.”

Finally, one single tear struggles free and rolls down her cheek, the picture he just painted for her surprisingly soothing and peaceful. She squeezes his fingers back, and it's like she's anchoring herself in the here and now, in their reality.

She nods. “Together.”


End file.
